Mother, Dearest
by Furlix60
Summary: An odd look at a possible past for a certain unloved Avalanche


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**Q/N-This is my first X-Men Evolution FF, so I'm sorry if it's bad! I just had a spur to write this and I actually like dit, and I hope you all do to! Avalanche is my favorite character, and sicne yesterday was mother's day, this knida jsut spawned from my mind...Sorry**

**Disclaimer-No, I don't own the characters, only the crappy idea I spinned into this story**

* * *

Mother, Dearest

Mother used to take me anywhere I wanted to go.

"Mother, can we go to the zoo?"

I'd just seen a commercial on TV. I'd never seen a giraffe up close and the kids in the commercial looked really happy at the petting zoo. I wanted to see what was so special about the llamas.

"Of course, darling. How about this weekend, when father's off work? That way, we can all go."

"Yeah! Thanks mommy! You're the best!"

She'd smile a sweet smile that I had grown up with. Her skin was lighter than father and mine's, but her hair was just as dark. She always wore a nice cardigan sweater and a pencil skirt. It was like she had one in every color I used to think. That weekend, we went to the zoo.

The llama spat on me.

"Mommy, can I have some new sneakers?"

My old sneakers were fine. A kid in my preschool class had just gotten a new pair, and I was envious.

"What's wrong with your old pair?"

"They're dirty and I don't like them!"

That was a lie. They were my favorite pair. They weren't exactly brand new but to call them old wasn't justice either. They were even kind of big on me. I could grow into them in another year or so.

"Okay, honey."

That afternoon mommy took me to buy a new pair of sneakers that I didn't need. I went to school the next day and made sure everyone knew about my new, cooler shoes.

A couple weeks later I lost the pair and had to resort back to my old sneakers, which were just as fine.

"I love you, Mommy!"

"I love you too..."

* * *

When I was barely six, only a few weeks after my birthday, mother took me to the park. While she sat on one of the numerous park benches, chatting to the other mothers of the abundant children present, I raced off to the slides. The park was relatively large, with a giant jungle gym and several monkey bars, and three of four slides. Swings were further park, but I didn't feel like swinging. I got into the line to go on the slide, awaiting my turn as several kids filed behind me.

It was about to be my turn when a larger kid, a second grader, cut in front of me. He simply walked up to me, pushed me down, and took my place in line.

I hit the ground, sending some dust up. The rocks left white chalk parks on my hands and clothes, and the taste of the dirt rising into my mouth wasn't pleasant either. I glared at the boy. He wasn't that much taller than me, but he was heavier built-fatter, I told myself.

I was so angry. No else spoke up, instead shoving and pushing to close the gap so there was no space left for me to reclaim my spot in line.

This angered me.

I had rightfully deserved that spot, waiting in line just as everyone else had. I felt the anger boil in my blood. I was mad.

Mad at the second-grader for stealing my spot.

Mad at the kids who wouldn't let me get back in line, nor did they stand up for me.

Mad at myself for letting the kid push me down.

I started to tremble with anger. If only there was something I could do about the situation.

It took me a moment before I realized I wasn't the one trembling. It was the earth around me. I paused, watching my surroundings. Several kids near-by stumbled slightly, one being so thrown off balance they fell and landed no the ground, just like me. It wasn't a large, or long, tremble. Like a small, short tremor that blew over just by the slides. The second-grader who had cut had paused, like everyone else behind him, and was now looking around. They thought something like a car or truck passing by had caused the tremor. The boy shrugged it off and continued climbing the slide. The kids quickly followed in pursuit, returning to their fun and games.

But I didn't move. I knew that tremor wasn't natural, but…

Surely _I _didn't cause it. I may have been six but I knew things like superpowers and heroes didn't exist. At least, mother told me they didn't.

A few of the kids, older kids, who had recognized this as odd behavior ran to their mothers to report the oddity. Soon after, several children were pulled aside by their mothers, whose excuses included, "It's getting dark" or "Dinner will get cold". Mother was among the few who waited a few more minutes. She wasn't particularly concerned, but when several of her gossiping friends had dispersed, she too came to retrieve me.

I hadn't moved, though. I was still thinking. What caused that quaver? Had it been just a large truck, or perhaps that wind. Or could it have been…?

Mother took my hand.

"Why are you on the ground? Your clothes will get dirty. Come along, father will be home soon."

* * *

Every time it rained, mother said we couldn't go out. I hated it when it rained. If it was windy, mother would simply take me somewhere inside. If it was hot, we went somewhere cool. If it was cold, we went somewhere warm. If it was a perfect day, warm and sunny but with a breeze, she'd take me outside. Even when it snowed, we went skating.

But for some reason, if it rained, we wouldn't go anywhere.

She told me rainy days were meant to be spent at home, doing 'rainy day things'. She'd always suggest things like a puzzle or book.

I hated books, and puzzles bored me.

"Why can't we go somewhere?"

"Because, I told you, you spend rainy days at home."

"I hate rainy days."

She'd just smile that all-too-familiar smile and pat my head, claiming tomorrow, if the weather was better, she'd promise to take me somewhere.

I loved every day except rainy days.

* * *

A week later, that shake from the park was still on my mind.

I lived with my mother and father in an apartment. It was somewhat upscale. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen with plenty of counter space and a spacious living room. We even had a sliding door that led to a large balcony, which mother decorated with potted plants and a few lawn chairs. Father was working late that night, and mother had gone over to a near-by friend's house to gossip and chatter about the latest affairs or scandals. She had locked the front door and told me to stay inside. Normally, I always listened to mother. Whenever mom left me alone (those days were just as bad as rainy days in my opinion) I'd usually turn on the TV, or raid the fridge (or what part of the fridge I could reach). But that night, I had to see something for myself.

That phenomenon from the park had stirred a question in my mind, and I hadn't rested easy since. I needed to know the answer. I'd tried convincing myself it was nothing for the past week, but something inside me…something kept reminding me of that feeling I'd had, just before the tremor. Something was telling me it was connected…

I had to pull hard to open the glass door to get onto the balcony. I looked around making sure no one was outside. It was a bit before sunset, the sky was dark but not sunless. It was mid-march, and though it had rained a lot not too long ago, the early night was warm with only a cold retreating winter breeze here and there. I made sure to even look hard, making sure no one was by the window. I didn't mind whether they caught me doing whatever exactly I was about to do, but I was afraid they'd tell mother. I didn't want mother to get a phone call from the neighbors about her son standing outside at this hour. She'd fret and lecture me about how I might catch a cold.

I took a deep breath, holding it for a moment, and then releasing the air. I outstretched my hands, flexing my fingers and listening to my knuckles crack. I had to see for myself…

I tried focusing. At first I didn't know what to focus on, because I didn't know what I was trying to do. What was I trying to prove? Something had just taken over my body, and convinced it that it needed to go outside and…do exactly what?

After a moment, awareness hit me at how stupid I probably looked. But, I didn't care. Something kept egging me on, a small voice in my head. It told me to just keep going. I shrugged it off. It was a convincing voice.

I decided to focus on anger. If what I thought was that the tremor had been caused by _me_ that day at the park, then I thought why not try to recreate the park's scenario? I tried to recall the anger I'd felt when that kid had cut. When those others hadn't done a thing. Nothing was happening, so I tried pulling up other memories. Like when it rained, or when my ice cream fell on the floor. Or when mom forced me to wear a tie for that family picture we took the previous summer.

Moments passed and nothing happened. And then I realized something. Why anger? For a moment, I allowed myself to believe that I had 'super powers'. With that thought now in my head, didn't that make me a super hero? From what I remembered of superheroes, weren't their powers always to help people? Surely superman didn't tap into his superpowers by focusing on the bad, on anger. This thought now settling into my head, I tried clearing my head. I started by relaxing my shoulders-I realized how tense I'd gotten.

Slowly, I outstretched my hands. I don't know why, but it felt right. It felt…like that's how I was supposed to do…_whatever _it was I was trying to do. I closed my eyes, searching for something, focusing on _something._

It wasn't long before I felt something rumble deep inside me. I tried focusing on that feeling. For a moment, my body quivered. I opened my eyes eager, thinking I'd done it, only to realize I simply had focused so hard that I'd begun to shake. I sighed, starting to loose hope. I was about to go back inside when I thought, "You know what? I'll try…one more time…"

I rolled my shoulders, pretending to rev up as though I was about to fight someone. I outstretched my arms one more time, this time really reaching for the earth. I looked straight forward-I wanted to be able to see everything shake around me.

I tried to find the shake inside me again. I didn't know exactly what to call it other than 'the shake'. I found it easier and quicker than before, and focused once more no it, though this time even more so intensely than before. My eyes unconsciously rolled to the back of my head. I felt my body shake. For a moment, I passed it off as that I was just shaking from stressing my body out, but then I realized it wasn't just me. I heard the plants rumble, the pots rattling against the concrete. I heard the winds shaking, the glass starting to vibrate. I even heard the shutters from inside slam against the windows. It only lasted a few seconds, but that was more than enough. Several neighbors poked their heads out to see what the ruckus was about. A few of the close-by neighbors even had felt the small tremble, the tiny vibrations through the walls.

I smiled eagerly, an almost wicked grin. I'd done it! I had powers! I was a superhero! I was so anxious to tell mother! She'd be so proud when she came home that night to find out her son was special.

He was gifted.

He was going to do the world good.

Mother came home, but rather than me showing off my new-found talent, she scolded me. Apparently, she had talked to a neighbor who'd seen me outside on her way home. She sent me to my room, and I missed my chance to tell her.

I decided I'd tell her another day, when I had better control over these powers of mine.

* * *

Mother took me to a baseball game once. One of my classmates had a relative that played for the minor league, and I wanted to see a real game. So, one afternoon, she took me to see one. I quickly lost interest-the game was long, boring, and I'd gotten sunburn. Later, she took me to a football game. I actually fell asleep during the second half. She took me to a golf tournament, a high school track meet, and swim meet, bowling, hockey games in the winter; even a polo match.

I showed no interests in sports, though I had to admit the wrestling match caught my attention when one of the wrestlers actually fell into the audience. Sadly, mother said we wouldn't be going to another one of those anytime soon. It was determined after several attempts that I just wasn't that interested in sports. Father was slightly disappointed, but mother liked the idea. She said I'd focus more on my studies and academics rather than sports, which at the time seemed fine to me. Personally, I didn't care.

"Can we go home now, mother?"

"Of course, darling!"

* * *

It wasn't until I was seven did I begin to grasp a better control over my 'powers'. It had taken nearly half a year to comfortably become capable to summon any sort of tremor, and it took the other half to finally start gaining control on the size of it. I was very skilled with shaking small things, like a glass of water or a handful of marbles and rocks. It took more concentration to shake an entire room, and the largest task I'd managed to perform was shaking the entire playground area, including the jungle gym and slides. The swings were too far away. Though, the stunt had left me with a killer headache.

The hardest part wasn't performing the tasks, but rather finding time to practice. Between me spending time with mother or spending the weekends at home with both mother and father, my only chances came when mother was with the neighbors and father was at work, or when I was in my room alone with the door closed. I didn't try shaking small things like books or my desk while mother and father were home until I thought I could handle them, after several practice sessions on the balcony while being home alone. Sometimes, when mother took me to the park and left me to roam alone, I'd hide behind the swings or a tree, out of sight of everyone who was too busy concerned with playing no their stupid over-grown toys, and I'd practiced. I wanted to have absolute control when I showed mother.

One time, mother took me with her to run some errands. She went to pick up some dry-clean, and left me outside. She told me not to wander off, and simply wait for her outside the door. When she went inside, I turned to make sure she had her back turned, the door being glass, and scanned for victims.

Over the course of a year, I'd learned a bit more about my power. I could create tremors, quakes, on any object, though I performed best on the earth itself. I was only in first grade, but already I had surpassed my fellow students. I'd researched on the earth, and already knew plenty on tectonics (I'd done some research on earthquakes, and learning that Illinois wasn't exactly residing no a tectonic plate, I had no choice but to finally come to the conclusion those earthquakes were my own creation). I'd already categorized myself to have control over seismic waves. The fact I even knew what seismic was had stunned my first grade teacher when she'd asked me about volcanoes. I'd blown not only the class and teacher away, but even mother and father when they received the phone call explaining how their son was a genius. I wouldn't have considered myself one, seeing as how aside from earth science, I did rather poor in nearly every other subject. Spelling was murder for me.

I also came to the conclusion I couldn't shake a person, figuratively speaking. I could, however, shake a specific area, particularly targeting the area under the feet of a chosen person-_that _I _could _do. My latest victim of said tactic was a man, reading the daily newspaper in one hand while holding a cup of what I assumed to be coffee in the other while he sat on a bench. I smiled to myself.

Too easy.

I didn't bother looking either way. I wasn't bothered by who saw me, for I doubted anyone would put two and two together to come to the conclusion that I was behind anything other than some child's play. Besides, no one even paid any attention to the small boy awaiting his mother outside the laundry mat.

My hands outstretched, reaching for the earth. I'd found over time this wasn't completely necessary, however it helped with control. It was like seeking aid from the earth to help control these powers, which I was sure I hadn't fully grasped yet (I still had a short range no how far I could extend my powers).

My eyes slowly rolled back. This, unfortunately, had become a habit. I was well aware of the goofiness of this action, but I couldn't help it, nor did I bother. I needed to focus on my gift, not my appearance.

It was barely a second before the outbursts of the man sounded in my ears, though I barely listened to that. I was too busy ecstatic of the sound of the vibrations, the earth answering my call as it resounded under the man's feet. I smiled, all too happy as I heard him curse, his coffee spilling over his pants. He frantically tried to soak the liquid up with his newspaper instead.

Just then the door swooshed open. I quickly dropped my hands and returned my eyes to normal view, but I was too slow in whipping the grin form my face.

"What are you laughing about?"

"N-nothing."

I bowed my head in shame as mother looked straight ahead, seeing the man who had been chosen to suffer my experiment.

"It's not nice to laugh at others less fortunate than you."

"Yes, mother. I'm sorry."

"Come along; let's return home before your father begins to worry."

* * *

I was seven and a half. I was barely past my bedtime, but I was too eager to sleep. I could now perform tiny tremors, small earthquakes, and the range of my powers was rapidly increasing. I could even reach the swings now. I'd been more and more tempted to tell mother, and I felt now was finally the time. I cracked open my door, noticing mother in the living room. She was curled upon the couch, reading a magazine she'd picked up that day from the hair salon (I'd gone with her-we'd gone out for ice cream, which I'd requested to have that afternoon. She'd agreed naturally) Dad was working late that night. He'd be home in an hour or so. The TV was on when I strolled into the living room, playing some talk show about a dysfunctional family that was falling apart due to a heroine addiction.

Mother looked up for a moment, and then turned the page of her magazine.

"Isn't it past your bedtime, honey?"

I was excited, but tried to calm myself. I wanted to surprise mother.

I couldn't wait for her reaction. She'd be so proud! Her son-a superhero! I smiled to myself.

"Can I show you something, mom?"

"Of course, dear."

She didn't look up.

"Mommy, you have to watch!"

"I am, honey."

Her eyes stayed on the article.

"Mother!"

"I'm watching!"

She finally folded the magazine down into her lap. She darted her eyes quickly from my face to my hands. She searched them. She was expecting a pretty picture from art class. A spelling test with a perfect grade. She looked at my face, startled and taken back. She blinked several times. There was an eager apprehension glint in my eyes…a demonic look.

The picture she wanted to see I'd spilt milk on the other day at breakfast, when her back was turned, when I'd practiced no liquids. That spelling test was not a perfect score but rather a failing grade, for I hadn't studied for it at all that week, instead practicing on pencils and stuffed animals in my room, trying to get them to move in the directions I'd wanted (I could control what to move, but exactly how they moved and what direction I moved them in was still a bit sketchy). The son she thought she knew who had a weird look in his eyes was the son she'd always had who was finally being looked at in the natural lighting.

"Watch closely, mommy," I'd said.

She closed her mother, pulling her arms tighter around her shoulders, hugging herself-bracing herself.

"Okay…" she whispered, half assuring me, half assuring her.

I outstretched my arms, an all too familiar practice for me.

My eyes rolled back. Mother's breathing started to quicken. I was frightening her? No, she must just be excited to see what I'd do next.

"Wh-what are you doing, honey?"

Was she nervous?

"Watch…mom…" I didn't want to break concentration. I was trying to focus-I wanted to blow mother away. Slowly, the apartment began to vibrate. At first, a light tremble, but quickly picking up pace. I heard the wall hangings fluster. The coach legs began to beat against the floor, jumping lightly. The glass was shaking from the windows. I heard the plates and hardware in the kitchen next door shake in the cabinets. The fan started to swing violently above my head, but I wasn't afraid.

Suddenly, I felt fear. Me? No…mother. She was frightened? I panicked-mother was starting to become uncomfortable. I couldn't see the horror cross her pale face, but I could feel the thinness of the air. I grew scared. What was mother thinking? I lost focus on the quake. Wrong thing to do.

The vibrating got worse; louder, larger. A pillow shook itself off the coach. I heard the cabinets swing open; dishes crashed to the tile floor. In a split second things went out of control. The hanging pictures fell to the floor. A bookshelf collapsed, the shelves breaking as books scattered themselves along the floor. The windows shattered. I grew fearful. My eyes shut tight, and stepped back. The fan was violently spinning, its hinges loosening, threatening to collapse. I heard a scream.

_Slap!_

The trembling stopped. The vibrations ad ceased, and the air was so crisp it felt as though it'd snap any second. Mother stood over me, her hand raised over her shoulder. She was panting hard, her face pale and her eyes wide.

My cheeks burned. I reached a hand to the stinging, only to then realize I was sprawled on the floor, on my side, with one hand to my burning face, red with shock, and the other supporting my half-propped body.

"D-don't…don't ever…do that…a-again…understand?!"

Mother's voice was shaking, but I was sure I'd stopped the trembling.

I couldn't speak, but somehow my mouth was open and words escaped it.

"Yes mother…"

Mother took me everywhere I wanted.

* * *

There wasn't a place in town, or along the outskirts for that matter, I hadn't been. We'd been to the zoo twice, the aquarium three times, the museum once (I'd found that too boring to request to visit a second time). We'd been to every park and playground in the city. I'd tried every flavor of ice cream every possible parlor within walking distance could offer, and I even knew which restaurants had the best kids' menus.

There wasn't a place in that quaint Illinois town I hadn't been too with mother.

* * *

That night, when father returned home, I heard mother screaming. My door was shut, and I was curled up in the corner, but I still heard her angry voice through the walls. I heard her trying to explain what she couldn't-how her son had created the mess before them. I heard father's calm, collected voice ask something along the lines of how exactly I'd reached the high cabinets, or broken all the windows. He seemed to think I'd run around the house smashing everything up. Mother's voice lowered to a murmur I couldn't hear, and after a pause of silence I heard footsteps approaching my room. Mother slammed open my door, pointing an accusing finger at me. I heard, among several words, things like 'freak', 'demon', and 'monster'. Mother talked o quickly, so panicked, so loudly. It was too much for me to register. I began breathing hard. I was trying to catch my breath, as though I'd just run a couple blocks. Tears were threatening to well in my eyes. I was confused.

Father said nothing. He was watching me silently, his hand over his mouth as he pondered. Quivered, but not form my gift-from fear. He leaned close to me, and in a calm voice, much calmer than mother's, he asked me to show him what I'd shown mother.

Mother let out an agonizing call, throwing her hands into the air before storming to the other end of the apartment. She wouldn't witness the monstrosity again.

"M-mother said n-never to do it again…"

Father smiled. It was a warm, gentle smile, but nothing like mothers. It was forced.

"It's alright. Mother won't mind this one time. For me…please?"

I nodded. This time, I wasn't going to risk making mother angry. I raised a single hand, the other one clutching my knees as close to my chest as I could get them. I raised my hand to the half-empty coke bottle on my desk. It was flat now and warm, too. My eyes rolled back as I focused on the coke can. It shuddered, tipped over, and spilled its contents out onto my desk. The brown liquid pored over onto the carpet.

That'd leave a stain.

Father didn't speak. He simply stared at the coke for a moment, and then rose, turned, and left my room, shutting the door lightly behind him.

I edged towards my bed, crawling up and under the covers. I buried myself under them and the pillows. I started crying, weeping quietly to myself.

I was scared.

Scared mother was angry at me.

Scared father was disappointed in me.

Scared that this super power of mine was more like a curse.

Scared I was a freak.

* * *

Mother would take me to the movies. Sometimes I'd tag along with her and her girl friends to see some chick flick. Those were always boring, and I always made an effort to complain every few minutes and whine the entire way home. Mom would make it up to me by taking me the following weekends to see an action movie, or a comedy. I was too young to see the real exciting actions movies; packed with explosives or monsters, but the few I did see were satisfying enough. Every time mother took me to see one of those kinds of movies, I'd forget about the horrible experience from the previous weekend and thank her a thousand times.

"Thanks, mommy!"

"Of course, dear. Anytime."

* * *

Mommy woke me up early the next morning. The sun wasn't even fully raised yet. I was still half asleep. Mother took my hand, dragging me by my wrists, yanking me from bed and throwing a jacket for me to put on. She let go of my hand, which I began to rub as she pulled forth a bag and started throwing clothes, my clothes, into. I rubbed my eyes.

"Wh-what…?"

"Don't worry, honey. Just grab your favorite things. Anything you want. Take it."

I blinked a few times, staring at her. They way she'd called me 'honey'…it seemed…forced? As though through gritted teeth.

Still, I obeyed. It was rather easy. There was only one thing I could pick, even though I still didn't quite get what mother meant. Were we going camping? I hastened to my desk, grabbing a picture frame. It was same picture with me, mother and father. The one where mother wore her favorite cardigan and pencil skirt, and father his favorite tie. Mother had made me comb my hair, which was so unruly and never looked good no matter what you did to it, and forced me to wear a tie as well. We'd taken it a couple summers back. As much as I'd hated taking that picture, it was my favorite, because it had all three of us together-as a family.

I stretched my hand out, offering it to mother. She reached for it, and then hesitated, as though she didn't want to touch it.

"Put it in the bag," she snapped, and I did so.

Then, she rushed me into her car. Father's car was already gone-he must have left for work.

"Where are we going mommy?"

"You'll see."

I smiled. Mommy wasn't mad! Relief rushed through me as she pulled us out from the driveway. Like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Mommy must have regretted how poorly she'd treated me the night before. Were we going no a vacation? Perhaps to the beach! I'd always wanted to go! Maybe a spa! It was still dark, but by the time the sun began to rise, it made no difference. The streets signs were new. None were familiar, and neither were the landmarks. We were far from anywhere I remembered.

"Mommy, whe-?"

"Don't talk! Don't do anything! Don't move! I don't want…"

She stopped herself, but I understood. She didn't want a repeat of last night. My heart sunk. She was still angry. Maybe she was going to take me to the doctor, see if I was sick or what was wrong with me. She'd try to fix me. Maybe she was taking me to a priest, or even a witch doctor. She thought something was wrong with me. She wanted to fix me. I felt like crying. Surely things couldn't get worse than this.

It was a couple of hours before the car began to slow down, turning into a quaint little town. My eyes fluttered open. I'd fallen asleep with my chin rested on my chest, dozing in and out of consciousness. I peered out the window, watching as mother pulled up to a shabby old building. It looked like a hospital to me. A large sign was in the half-dead lawn, large with big words printed on it. The only word I recognized was 'Boys'. It was old, red brick, and had several windows. The front door was old and I could see the mold from the car, parked in front of the long walkway to the front door. I scrutinized my face in disgust. This was a pretty crappy hospital, I thought. Was this where mother planned to have me cured?

I then realized mother had left the car. Quickly, I unbuckled my seat-belt, opening the car door. Just as I stepped out, turning after shutting my door to follow, she whipped back around at me.

"STAY!"

I froze, somewhat frightened. So mother was going to talk to the doctors first? I turned, about to re-enter the car.

"DON'T!"

I paused, looking at mother. She was panting and looked exasperated. She regained her posture, and dignity, and turned swiftly around, leaving me. I stood there, watching her walk away. After a couple of minutes, I leaned against the car, allowing my chin to fall to my chest again. My eyes were beginning to falter when I heard the clicks of her heels approaching. I quickly pulled myself up from the car, watching as she approached me.

I watched as she walked past me.

I noticed her eyes were puffy, red; swollen. She had been crying? Did she get any sleep last night?

She walked to her side of the car, opening the door. I reached for my handle, still watching mother intently with my eyes.

"Mo-"

"Don't call me that! Don't call me! Just…"

She had been shouting but lowered her voice. She closed her eyes, breathing in and calming herself, then spoke.

"Step back."

I didn't move.

"These people are nice. They'll take care of you. '

"Mommy…"

"I said don't call me tha-"

"Mommy, I've never been here? Where is this place?"

Mommy's never taken me here.

"Stay here. They're nice. They'll treat you kindly and you'll make friends and-"

"I don't wanna. I wanna go home! Home to the apartment, home to daddy, home to where my friends are, my _real _friends! Home with everyone. Home with you, mo-"

"I said don't call me MOMMY!"

I paused, my mouth open wide and my breathing loud, raspy and choking. I was sweating, nervous, scared, frightened. I was fearful.

"M-mother…?"

This is an orphanage. They'll feed you and be kind to you and l…l…"

She couldn't say 'love you'. She couldn't say 'they'll love you'.

"Mo…mom…mommy…I-I d-d-don't w-want their f-food…I d-don't want them…I wa-want mommy…"

"Be good, and study hard. And…don't ever do that _thing _you did…ever again…no matter how angry you get…"

"I-I promise I won't do it again…j-just please…take me home!"

"I-I'm sorry…"

She started to cry. It was too late. Tears were already bawling down my face. This wasn't happening.

"Mommy? Mommy, take me home with you! I-I don't wanna stay here! I promise I'll never do it again! I promise I'll never, ever shake anything ever again! Just take me home, mommy!"

"Good bye…son…"

"Mommy?! Mommy, please!"

She sat in her car seat, slamming the car door behind her. My voice cracked, but I couldn't move. I couldn't reach for the door handle in front of me.

"Mom, PLEASE!"

I watched as she buckled her seat belt, reaching into her purse as she drug out the car keys.

"MOM! MOMMY, PLEASE! PLEASE! TAKE ME HOME! MOM!"

I heard the car start as she turned the keys. Lights blinked as the car slowly turned, the gravel underneath the tires sounding as though bones were being grinded. As though hearts were being crushed.

"MOM! MOM, PLEASE! MOTHER?!"

The car began to move, slowly at first, then picking up speed. My strength returned. I began to slowly step after the car, and as it picked up speed, so did I. I broke into a run.

"MOM! MOTHER! NO! PLEASE!"

It reached to end of the street, stopping at the stop sign for a brief moment.

"MOM! MOM!!"

The back lights blinked, and slowly she turned. The car disappeared behind houses and trees lined up, blocking my view of the retreating car.

"MOTHER!"

I screamed into the air, but it was futile.

"M-mother…"

My voice was croaking, fading. My lips were parched, chapped and my throat was sore, twisted with a knot bunched in it.

"_M-mother…"_

It was nothing but a whisper now. I tried to recall mother's face, her features. I couldn't remember. As though my mind was as blurred as my vision with all the tears. I couldn't remember what her perfume smelt like, or what color her hair was. How dark was her skin? Her eyes?

That smile. That unforgettable smile…I'd forgotten it.

A hand grabbed my shoulder. I hadn't been aware someone was approaching me from behind, but I didn't flinch of move when the figure's flesh collided with my shoulder.

"What is your name, child?"

It was an elderly voice, though I didn't care. I was too busy replaying mother's words in my head. She'd screamed at me with such venom, such poisonous words. As though I really was a monster.

And here, all this time, I'd thought I was blessed with a gift. With superpowers.

Me, a superhero?! HA!

When all I was was a monster. One who even disgusted his own mother.

Did superman strike fear into his mother's eyes?

Mother never even said my name. As though it was taboo. As though it was a curse.

I opened my mouth, but couldn't speak.

"Son?"

Those words startled me, but I realized it was the old person behind me. My breath returned to me. I hadn't realized I'd been holding it.

"L-Lance…Lance A-"

I stopped. Did I deserve the name? Mother had abandoned me. Could I really call myself her son?

I gulped.

It was all I had. I couldn't break down now. I had to be strong, or else mother wouldn't return.

"Lance Alvers."

* * *

Mommy took me anywhere.

She'd take me everywhere I'd asked. One time, we went to an amusement park. I'd gotten lost for half an hour. Somehow, through all the chaos and tears, I managed to make my way to the parking lot, back to our car. And there, I found mommy. I was sure she would leave without me, but she was there, fretting and biting her nails. She was so happy when she saw me. She embraced me tightly and told me she'd never let me get lost like that again. Then, we both got into her car and drove home.

I'm lost now, mother, but you let me be this way.

You didn't wait for me mommy.

"_Can we go home now, Mommy?"_

"_Of course, darling!_

"_I love you mommy!"_

"…"

I can't remember you saying those words to me.

* * *

Eleven years later, I'm sitting at the same orphanage you left me at, mother. In the beginning, I was frightened. I wouldn't speak. I'd wait day in and day out by the window, waiting to see your car return to pick me up. For you to come back, say my name, say you're sorry, say you'll forgive me and that I can come home now.

You never came.

I gave up after a year. I realized you weren't coming back. Kids would pick on me, but then I did what you told me not to. I used that _thing_ you hated so much. My gift. My curse. I frightened everyone. No one would go near me. I didn't make friends, mother. Rather, I was feared. You probably think I'd like that, but it was painful. Every time I scared someone, I was reminded of you, because they all had the same look in their eyes. The look of fear. Never love, only fear.

You might be happy to know, or distressed, that I've found others like me. 'Mutants' we call ourselves. They're like me; they've been rejected by everyone, and together we've created our own…_brotherhood._ For once, I'm equal with others, no longer superior (though if you ask me I'm still superior; simply, these people share the fact that we possess 'talents'). It's funny, because our enemies, the_ X-men_-they seem to share the belief humans and mutants can get along. They think humans will open up to us, and treat us as equals. They'll learn to treat us normal and not fear us. They don't believe humans will turn on us.

Funny, because thanks to some experience, I'm almost certain they will turn on us, no matter who they are or how close they were.

Not that you'd care, mother. This doesn't concern you much. I heard how things have been going for you. Great, ever since your 'son died in a traffic accident'. I heard your career has taken a real boost, and you and father are even discussing trying for a second child, though you're skeptical in fear it might turn out like me. I can't say I don't blame you, though. Who'd want a monster for a son?

You obviously didn't, mother.

* * *

**A/N-Well, I hoped you liked it! It's not great, and it's my first try, so please be as constructive as you wish! I don't mnid flames at all, and frankly I expect them! I just always was interested in the fact Lance was an orphan, and he joined the brotherhood ebcause he has his opininos that humans won't except him. It jsut seemed like a coool idea to write a fanfic explaining maybe some of his hatred for humans. That's jsut my opinion, sorry! Please, I hope you enjoyed the story, sorry if you didn't, and review pelase! Thank you!**


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